


Where the Heart Is

by lady_illiya



Series: axgweek 2013 [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_illiya/pseuds/lady_illiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya always thought of Winterfell as home, it took years before she realized it was only home because of the people. Day 4 of axg week 2013, Haven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long one you guys, but so much fun to write! Hope you all enjoy it!

She met the blacksmith apprentice the first day he started, when she was seven years old. She had run in all scrawny and dirty and demanded a sword. He had tried to shoo her away, thinking her some poor child from the outskirts of Winterfell when Mikken came out and saw her. She remembered the boy looked shammed when he realized she was the daughter of their Lord. Mikken had given her a small wooden sword and she had run off gleefully to fight her brothers and had promptly forgotten about the blacksmith boy.

* * *

 

It was a year later when she learned his name. She had gone to get her practice sword and he was alone in the forge, hammering out some horseshoes. When he saw her, he sort of went into a spasm, trying to bow while simultaneously prevent the hammer and hot red metal from falling on his feet. She had snorted at him, received her fake sword and was about to leave when she paused, looking at him.

“What is your name?”

He bent lower to the ground, if that was possible, “Gendry, m’lady.”

She scoffed at that, “I am no lady,” and promptly ran off into the yard to play.

* * *

 

She was nine when the first jab of reality hit her. Her sister was engaged, or as Arya liked to put it, _sold_. She was over the moon of course, imaging herself as Lady Tyrell, she already had their mother making rose hair ornaments. She wasn’t going just yet, according to her parents, she would have to wait a couple of years, until she was a proper women. This, of course, did not please Sansa, who wanted to go to Highgarden right away. Arya did not understand the excitement her sister had and told her just how stupid she was to want to be at a man’s bidding all the time.

Sansa had snapped at Arya and told her no matter how many dirty breeches Arya ran around in, she was still a Lady and that she hoped she got some old fat lord for how she acted. She remembered being appalled and turned to her mother, who had a grim look to her and she knew it to be true. Gasping, she turned to her father, “but that’s not me.”

He reassured her, “I know, my child,” and patted her on the shoulder, “run along now.” She had smiled and ran off, not seeing the look Catelyn had paid Ned, the one indicating that he shouldn’t lie to her about the way their world was.

That was the same year her brother Jon went to join the Watch. She was so mad at her mother for this, since everyone in Winterfell knew her Lady mother was never fond of her Lord’s bastard. She had pouted for most of the day, hoping that if she didn’t acknowledge the fact Jon would still be there in the morning.

Jon found her sulking in her room, and she cried while they said goodbye. When he left though, she was all smiles, because she had a Needle to remember him with now.

* * *

 

It was a year after Jon had gone that she turned to the other bastard she knew, the blacksmith’s apprentice, Gendry. Robb was too busy and important as the future Lord of Winterfell to play with her now, and Bran and Rickon too young, and Sansa, well she had her needlework to keep her busy and Arya had hers.

She was sick of fighting imaginary opponents in her bedroom, and she knew if she asked one of the knights to train her it would just end up with her mother and then she wouldn’t get to have any more fun. Her logic for approaching him made sense to her, he made swords, surely he must know how to swing one around right?

It wasn’t until she was standing in front of him in the forge that she realized how much he had changed, ‘he’s _strong_ ,’ she thought. He still bent to bow to her when he realized she was there. After rolling her eyes she spoke, “I need your help.”

“Anything m’lady.” He mumbled, still looking at the floor.

“I need you to practice sword fighting with me.” He glanced up at that, and she found herself staring into startling blue eyes, “I have a sword, but no one to practice with.” She pulled herself up to her full height, which did not even reach his shoulders. “I demand you assist me.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “For a girl who says she ain’t no lady, you certainly know how to act like one.” He fell back against the bench at her shove, laughing.

“I’m not a lady! That’s not me!” she crossed her arms, embarrassed now, “So, will you help me or not?”

“Aye, if you promise not to have my head cut off if I hurt you.”

She beamed, “Promise!” and stuck her hand out for him to shake.

She should have known better, but she was only ten, how was she to know what she was starting.

* * *

 

For the next year she and Gendry would sneak off to the Godswood and spar. At first he insisted they use practice swords, which Arya argued adamantly against, she had a real sword after all. She caved when he threatened to return to the forge and leave her well enough on her own. In the end it made sense, they were both pretty terrible, and if a wooden sword hurt when it hit you she didn’t very much fancy a steel one doing the same.

They both got better in time, the Bull, as she had taken to calling him, was indeed strong, but she was faster. She could move in and out of his swipes and smack his sides before he was able to defend from her assault. Between their sessions Arya would often find herself perched near or in the forge, watching Gendry hammer away at his latest project. She grew very close to him overtime, coming to think of him as another Jon. Someone she could trust and spend time with, since her actual siblings all seemed too busy for her. Bran was actually getting trained to be knight and Arya steamed with jealousy whenever she saw him being instructed. This had sent her to the forge for a rant while Gendry just sat and listened.

When she was eleven Sansa’s betrothed and his family came for a visit. Her mother explained that while Sansa had ‘flowered’ they still wanted to wait a couple years before she was wed, feeling her to still be too young. This visit was a way to cement the ties and to smooth over any lingering anger at the Starks delaying the wedding. Arya was to be on her best behavior. She had no control over the next several days as she found herself scrubbed clean of all the dirt that had made her body its’ home, her hair pulled and braided and her body stuffed into an uncomfortable green dress with acorns of all things sewn across it.

She had lasted the better part of the feast behaving, she laughed at the stupid jokes their guests made and pretended she listened to the ‘rousing’ speech the bumbling someone or other gave about this union. She snuck out during the applause afterwards, easily slipping past the guards and crossing the grounds to the forge. Gendry was in the back relaxing on his bunk when she walked in. He didn’t react quite the way she came to expect. He blinked slowly at her, as if she was a mirage, and she realized he’d been drinking.

His laughter shook her out of her stupor, he stood up abruptly from the bed and came over and pulled at the sleeve of her gown. “Looks who’s a proper little lady now?” He leaned into her, and sniffed “You even smell like one.”

She shoved him hard, and they tumbled to the floor, rolling and wrestling until he had her pinned to the ground. He seemed frozen looking down at her, and Arya didn’t know what to do. A loud cheer from the hall caused them both to jump, and he was off her before she had time to blink. She scrambled to her feet, noticing her dress was all dirty from the forge floor. “Not much of a Lady now, am I?” she said, before rushing out the door, the tips of her ears red for reasons unknown to her.

Once the Tyrell’s had left, Arya returned to the forge to get Gendry for a spar. He seemed more awkward than usual, until Arya snapped at him, “What is it, you stupid bull! You are even worse than usual.” He seemed to return to normal after that, and she was content to have her friend back, even if her checks seemed to burn whenever worked with his shirt off.

* * *

 

She was twelve when Sansa was shipped off to Highgarden, their goodbye was more emotional then everyone expected. Although, part of the reason Arya was upset was the crushing realization that she had now lost two of her older siblings, and that she would be sent off next.

It certainly didn’t help things much when she found out her parents were receiving ravens from various families indicating their desire for a union between Arya and one of their sons. Apparently it was mostly her mother planning things, which she realized when she sat Arya down to attempt to discuss _options_. Catelyn had begun with, “Well naturally the Karstarks are interested, and if you married into that family you’d be close of course, but I can’t really see them as an option, personally.” She was fiddling with letters on her desk, not looking Arya fully in the eye, and when she went to continue, Arya was out the door running before she could be stopped.

She skid to a stop in front of her father, who was meeting with Jory about the guard shifts. “It’s not fair!” She had exclaimed, “Sansa _just_ left! Why do I have to go! Why are you so eager to get rid of us!” She hated the tears that were forming, and she said the rest in almost a whisper, “Please don’t ship me away.”

Her father sent Jory away with a wave of his hand, and drew Arya into a hug. “I would love it if you could stay here your whole life, but Arya, that is not the way of the world.” He kissed her forehead. “There is time though, I will speak to your mother, you are still young.”

Arya offered him a watery smile and a small word of thanks before leaving the hall.

When she ranted about this to Gendry, going on about how unfair it was that her mother was doing this, and how no one would listen to her when she said she didn’t want to marry some fat old lord. She was blind to her rage that she was pretty oblivious to Gendry’s reaction to all of this.

So it came as a surprise to her when he snapped at her. Telling her she should be happy her parents are trying to make it be the best for her, since she _was_ going to get married, she couldn’t avoid it forever. And then, before she could reply he said, “Excuse me m’lady, but I must be getting back to work.” He turned away from her, and she was so stunned she didn’t know what else to but leave.

She didn’t see him as much after that, he threw himself into his work, transcending from an apprentice to working side by side with the Mikken. He waved her off more and more when she came to get him to train, and couldn’t even find time to chat like they used to.

It bothered her.

* * *

 

She was thirteen the first time she kissed him.

They hadn’t been spending as much time together, and Arya was getting sick of it. They were feasting some lord and his pretty young daughter, probably a potential match for Bran or Rickon. Arya sneaked away easily, it was getting late and her mother would think she had simply gone off to bed.

Gendry was still awake, and she was able to need and nettle at him until he agreed to come with her. She had taken his hand and pulled him through the paths until they found themselves under the heart tree. She had sat, and pulled him down next to her, chattering away about nothing until they eventually fell into a comfortable silence.

She surprised even herself when she kissed him. There they were, just sitting by themselves on the grass in the Godswood, when she looked over at him. There was no question he was a man now, but she hadn’t seemed to realize until now.

His jaw was square, and his hair had grown a bit, so it covered some of his forehead; he shook it a lot when he worked, not used to it. Yet, his cheekbone was pronounced, with the low light it appeared to be jutting almost angrily out from under his eye. And Ayra had done it; just leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.

He froze at her touch, and she had snapped back immediately, thankful it wouldn’t be easy to see her blush.

She stared at his profile for a moment until he turned to look at her, his eyes were wide, and his mouth was slightly open. They stared at each other for a moment, and Gendry’s mouth started to open and shut, about to say something, and Arya bolted. Like a deer, she stood and ran, not looking back or stopping until she reached the safety of her room.

She wasn’t sure if her heart was racing because of the exertion of her run or the fact that she had just kissed the bastard blacksmith.

Or maybe it was racing because she wanted to do it again, but on his lips.

* * *

 

She was fourteen when they kissed for real.

She had had too much wine with dinner. They were celebrating, you see, Arya was to be married.

Well, engaged to be married, she supposed. She was officially a woman now. Over two moons had passed since she first bled. She had a minor breakdown when it happened, and the maid had fetched her mother. Her mother had tried to console her, patting Arya’s head and speaking how she was a woman now. Arya had yanked away from her when she started going on how Arya could start her own family now, and Arya knew her time of freedom had just been shortened considerably.

Sure enough, the ravens were sent out, less then she expected, but then again, she shouldn’t be surprised her mother had narrowed down the field.

Her parents sat her down, her mother did most of the talking, Ned looking uncomfortable the whole time, knowing this was not what Arya wanted.

“We found a good match for you Arya, he’s only a couple of years older then you, very comely from what they say.” Catelyn paused, but Arya didn’t react, she didn’t care about that, “He’s the heir to Starfell, Edric Dayne. I’m sure you two will get along very well.” Arya’s mother looked unsure, Arya was being quiet, she knew this was coming, she knew crying and running to Ned would not save her this time. She could rage and scream and fight all she wanted, but this would still be her fate.

“When do we have to get married?”

It was her father who answered, he leaned forward, placing his hand on her knee, squeezing in that fatherly way she loved so much. “Not for a while yet. He is in training for a time still, and they wish to wait till he is finished and returns home before he weds you.”

“How long?” she asked.

“A year or two,” he smiled at her, “we thought that would be best, give you some time to adjust to the idea, he will visit with Lord Dondarrion during his travels, so you will get to meet him before you wed.”

She nodded, holding in the tears while she asked to be excused, she held herself together for the entire walk to her chambers, where she promptly fell on the bed, tears streaming like the little girl she was.

When the details had been ironed out, Winterfell feasted, drinking and cheering for the wonderful match made for Arya. People came up to her constantly, congratulating her, telling her interesting facts (rumors) about her fiancé. And the more people congratulated her, the more wine she drank. She was most definitely tipsy when Robb escorted her from the hall, depositing her gently in her room. He kissed her forehead, and ruffled her hair like he did when she was little, and that made her all the more sad.

She had stayed there for a moment, contemplating crawling into bed when a better idea came to her wine addled brain. She hurried and pulled at the ties holding her dress up, it was much easier to take this off by herself then it was to put on. She practically dived to the bottom of her trunk when the dress was off, pulling out an old pair of Bran’s trousers she had stashed away from her mother; as she had been banned from wearing such things a couple of years prior.

She yanked on the clothes and snuck out of the castle, only with her years of experience was she able to complete it in her state.

She was giggling when she crawled through the window of the smithy, she thought belatedly that the wine seems to be affecting her more now than it did earlier, the delayed effects kicking in.

She wasn’t exactly being quiet, so it came as no surprise when Gendry came rushing out of the back room to find her laughing while attempting to pick up the shield she had knocked over on her way in.

“Gendry!” she exclaimed when she stood up and saw him, dropping the shield once again, breaking out into giggles at her actions. She grinned at him, “Hello, fancy seeing you here.” She walking toward him, and ended up falling instead, completely on accident mind you, and he jerked forward to catch her.

She contented herself with being in his arms, and he seemed to think she couldn’t stand on her own two feet, so he continued to support her. “I miss you.” She whispered into his tunic.

“I’m right here m’lady.”

“It’s not the same as it was, we aren’t together as much anymore.” She looked up at him, he was still supporting her, and their faces were close together. Arya’s eyes slid to his lips, remembering when she kissed him and how much she wanted to kiss those lips instead.

She leaned forward, and before he could react, pressed her lips against his. He was still, arms around her, as she tried to deepen the kiss. He didn’t move until her tongue was probing against his sealed lips, and suddenly she was being spun around. Her legs lifted to wrap around his on instinct, and her back found the wall of the forge.

His mouth moved against hers urgently, fingers gripping hard into her side. Their lips fought for dominance, until Arya needed air. She pulled back, head resting against the wall, his checks were pink, and her lips would probably feel swollen if they weren’t numb. Her stomach was rolling, the butterflies going haywire from feeling his lips on hers.

Or, maybe her stomach wasn’t flipping because of Gendry, but rather, the wine. She dropped her legs, shoving at his chest until he set her down and stepped away, where she promptly, much to her embarrassment, vomited all over the smith’s floor.

He waited until she was done and pulled her gently to her feet. She couldn’t meet his eyes, even when he spoke, “We should get you back to the castle.”

He started to lead her out, when Arya realized he intended to escort her. She stopped, “Gendry, I- I can make it on my own.”

“You just got sick, I think it would be safer-“

She cut him off, “No. I snuck out, they would wonder what I was doing. I’ll be fine.” She shrugged him off, and left without looking back, sneaking back to collapse on her featherbed, ready to sleep off the embarrassment of what just happened.

* * *

 

She had a year before she was to be married and she was 15, the date was set, it was official. This time, it was Gendry who had been drinking, she had snuck out like she did so often these days. They would normally just talk, while Arya would have loved to kiss him again, he made sure to always keep a distance of her.

Tonight was different, when she arrived in his back room, he was nowhere to be found. She thought of leaving, but decided to wait for him. She had started sitting on his bed, and was surprised when she woke on her side to sounds coming from the other room. She was pushing herself up when he stumbled through the door. He saw her and started, hand snapping out to catch the doorframe.

They stared at each other; he looked as if he didn’t believe she was actually there. She sat all the way up, fisting the sheets, and all she could come up with to say, was “Hi.”

He did a half little wave with the hand holding him up against the door, causing his grip to slip, falling sideways and leaning on the doorframe instead.

“You’re drunk.” She stated, unimpressed.

“And yer getting married.” He grumbled, “Congratulations.” He stretched out the first syllable, resting on the ‘n’ before slurring the rest of the word.

She glared at him, “Just because I have to marry him, it doesn’t mean I want to. I thought you knew me better.”

He groaned, head tilting, knocking against the wood. “I don’t- I mean I do. Know you, I mean. With _him_?” His teeth ground together, and he shook his head, trying to clear it.

“It’s not _him_ that I want.” She said it quietly, and she wasn’t sure he even heard her until he was kissing her. He took the distance to his bed in two swift strides, his hands going to her shoulders, gently pressing her down into the bed. He pressed down, legs ending up between her as his lips found hers in a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Her lips felt electrocuted, sending tingles down her body, and she was happy that Gendry could hold his ale, because they didn’t have any reason to stop this time.

* * *

 

It was two moons before her wedding, and she was standing at the foot of his bed, having slid through his window several minutes ago. She watched him for a moment, before kneeling beside him. Her hand reached out, pale and glowing in the moonlight, and clamped over his mouth, silencing his gasp. She released him when his blue eyes met hers, and he no longer fought her.

He stayed silent, staring at her, waiting for her to speak. “I’ve packed enough for two. Will you come with me?”

He leaned toward her, kissing her on the lips, “I’ll follow you anywhere, m’lady.”

They rode off into the night, riding with as few breaks as possible for their horses to keep on. There was the potential for them to be followed, but Arya knew that her father would dally in sending men after her, knowing it would be putting her into a philosophical cage should she be returned and shipped off to Starfell. Ned always had a soft spot for his daughter that reminded him so much of Lyanna.

They eventually settled, finding a life easily in a small town, blacksmith’s could work anywhere.

"Do you miss it?" Gendry asked one night, trailing his fingers across her lower back.

“Yes,” she said softly, “Winterfell will always be special to me, and I miss my family, but I do not regret leaving. Winterfell is no longer home to me”

Arya had been fighting to stay in Winterfell for so long, having no desire to leave her home, it was odd how fine she was having left it.

Because she was home wherever she was with him; Gendry was her haven.


End file.
